


Dead Skin on Trial

by yuffiehighwind



Series: An Eternity in Cheese Country [47]
Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: Birthdays, Dual Identity, F/M, Family, Flashbacks, Gen, Gods becoming human, Grief/Mourning, Incest, Let's wrap up this dumb series, M/M, Memory Loss, Milwaukee, Modern Era, Non-Linear Narrative, Parenthood, Technology changes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 11:45:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10853334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuffiehighwind/pseuds/yuffiehighwind
Summary: A non-linear look at the major events in Discord's life, from Hercules' birth to her time in Milwaukee as Veronica.





	Dead Skin on Trial

**Author's Note:**

> -This is part of the 'fic series "An Eternity in Cheese Country," and here's why - after they were killed by Callisto and Xena, the souls of Strife, Discord, and Deimos were reincarnated in the late 20th century into three humans named Steve, Veronica, and Dave.
> 
> -Veronica’s 25th birthday takes place in 2002. The first iPod came out in October 2001.
> 
> -If the first section seems strange – (an immortal should be very familiar with the rise and fall of civilizations and their technological advances) - Discord is unfamiliar with the evolution of music and communications because she was transported from the ancient world to 1998 Milwaukee instead of living all those centuries and watching technology change herself.

On her 25th birthday, Steve gives Veronica an iPod and she marvels at the little device. They say it can contain 1,000 songs, more music than Veronica’s even heard before.

Music was very different BCE, so as Discord she heard much more, _so_ much more music over her long life. Because every performance, every composition, was unique to that moment. That's why the idea that songs can be captured and compressed is so strange to her. Music can be so carefully manipulated, layered so that several or more separate performances can all be remixed into something new. Something crafted - a piece of art more affecting than any painting or statue - while still intangible.

Disembodied voices stream from every television set and radio. _The thump thump thump_ of drums thunder from small boxes on the pavement and from vehicles speeding by. Veronica goes shopping and the songs are there above and around her, filling the stores with incredible harmonies nobody else finds the least bit remarkable. It amazes her, and she used to be a magic user. Humans have used science to perform their own magic, create their own miracles, turning dreams into realities. Nobody needs gods anymore.

Even the humans are boggled by this new technology. It means no more boxes and shelves of records, tapes and CDs. Steve downloads Veronica an entire library of music, all kinds, all genres. His gift to her, the first he's given since he saved her from the freezing rain four years earlier.

Dave buys her some earbuds.

 

* * *

 

 

Every little ache tortures Veronica her first few days as a human. Even sitting down and doing nothing is agony. Shifting her body even slightly sets off at least a hundred little jabs of pain. She feels tired after only ten hours of wakefulness and nods off after sixteen. After sleeping for about eight, she wakes up starving and needing to relieve herself. That humans never complain about the overwhelming amount of physical sensations bombarding them every second is remarkable. No wonder they’re so fucking miserable.

 

* * *

 

 

After four years, Veronica starts noticing her body is changing, albeit nothing too obvious. A human's early twenties aren't the time of much radical physical development, but it's all the small things that tip her off, like wrinkles. The distribution of fat on her cheeks, the dark bags below her eyes. It’s all just...different.

She takes a blurry self-portrait with her cell phone, flipping it open like a clam. Veronica's familiar with cameras now because Steve has one, a little box that captures fragments of the real world much like tape recorders capture voices. Phones are just ways for humans to communicate long distance without needing to write letters. Two people can speak across miles as if they are standing next to each other. Veronica keeps her friends' numbers on "speed dial" and it works much like her telepathy did, except with more shouting and pointing the object at the sky looking for the strongest signal to hear her friends more clearly.

This newest phone has a camera in it. Phones aren't yet able to store music, though. That's several years into the future. So Veronica is stuck with two little devices, one in each pocket. She prefers her iPod and leaves the phone at home most days, because being reachable all the time is irritating. Dave is always sending her short messages called “texts.”

Veronica hits the "ok" button and the phone creates a snapshot of this moment, of her pursing her lips at the camera. She looks like a duck and tries again for a more serious pose. She compares the grainy image to a photograph - a painting of a single moment in time - that Steve printed and Veronica taped to her dresser mirror. It's a picture of all three of them, Dave to their right, crowding the frame. She glances between the photo and her reflection, comparing. Veronica sends her self-portrait to Steve with the message _"Cant believe im 25."_

 

* * *

 

 

"What's your name?" Strife quizzes her, and Discord taps her foot nervously, impatiently, staring at the far wall.

"This is stupid."

"You're gonna need a cover story, Discord."

"I know, I know, it's just..."

Strife sits down on the couch beside her, sympathetic but frustrated.

"It's a lot to take in, and it don't make a lick of sense. I know, I've been there."

Discord wants to lean on Strife's shoulder and just cry and cry, but doesn't know if it's appropriate. She hasn't seen him in thirty years and they didn't part peacefully.

"I think you should talk to Barry and Larry."

"Who the fuck are--?"

"Bartleby and Loki. The archangels."

Discord scoffs. "Angels?"

"Yeah, I told you about them. Maybe they can help. They were kinda short on explanations, but—"

"Most angels are bastards, so that doesn't surprise me."

Discord leans back, sighing. Strife does the same, sitting shoulder to shoulder, because he knows she needs the contact. Discord does something she hasn't since Hercules was in his mid-twenties and takes Strife's hand. He squeezes her fingers gently and she smiles.

"So, these guys can get me a fake identity?"

"I think they can arrange something, yeah."

 

* * *

 

 

"We should have a party," Dave says to her, kicking an empty beer can with his foot. The living room looks like there's already been one. He and Veronica somehow trash the place every weekend, even though their friends are a limited bunch from work. Humans who get weirded out after a while and leave their parties early, because Dave and Veronica get drunk and start talking nonsense about magic and mythology.

"Not for this," says Veronica. "It's not a big deal."

Dave stands up on the coffee table, scattering magazines and knocking over empty glasses, spreading his arms grandly.

"Twenty-five? Hell yeah it's a big deal! That's why we gotta invite everybody we know!" He laughs and swigs a beer, the same brand as the ones on the floor. "It's, like, the most important holiday of the whole year!"

Veronica blushes. Dave can still get carried away sometimes. At least here he can't burn cornfields into the shape of her name.

"It isn't even my real birthday," she says, but Dave waves this fact away.

"That don't matter, babe. It's a celebration we can have on any day. This is the one on your driver's license."

"What if I don't want to be 25?"

Dave jumps down, and like his cousin four years earlier, sits on the couch beside her, shoulder to shoulder.

"Not to be rude, but you passed that date a long, _long_ time ago."

Veronica looks down at her hands. They look older too.

"My new body is aging, Deimos."

Deimos, who's been aging as well, is in his thirties on paper. He's grown out his blonde locks while Strife's cut his own black hair short, and whatever being cursed the two gods with mortality held off on the receding hairlines. So Deimos doesn't look much older than Discord, but their youth is fading fast. Discord has looked like a twenty-year-old girl for millennia, and only now are the years starting to show.

Her phone beeps and it's a text from Strife. _"Happy Birthday kiddo."_

Discord smirks at the endearment and replies, _"Im 1000 yrs older than u."_

Deimos peers at the exchange over her shoulder. He was only two centuries old when he died and the calendar makes him feel centuries older. Time travel is confusing.

"You're ancient, Discord," Deimos teases. "And you finally look it."

Discord's nostrils flare in anger. Deimos is supposed to be making her feel better and is blowing it.

"Shut the fuck up," she says, getting up and storming into the kitchen.

Deimos sighs loudly, with an exaggerated groan, and whines, "Can't you take a joke?"

"No," she says, violently yanking open the fridge to crack open another beer. She curses when it fizzes over and spills on her.

"You don't look a day over 800," Deimos says with a grin.

 

* * *

 

 

Hercules is born midsummer on a Thursday, or hēmérā Diós. (The boy is almost born on hēmérā Áreōs, and wouldn’t that have been a slap in the face?) Zeus doesn’t hide the fact he loves the child and his human mother Alcmene more than most. This enrages Hera, baiting her jealousy in a way his other bastards don’t. Zeus has far too much invested in this child, in this family. It is one final betrayal Hera can’t ignore. So she demands that Zeus respect her, or at the very least fake it, and favor their own children and not some mortal’s whelp.

Ares, God of War, is Hera’s first-born, thousands of years older than his half-human baby brother. He is soon followed by his sister Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, their brother Hephaestus and the twins Apollo and Artemis, gods of the sun and moon. Eris, her youngest, is born much later, the result of make-up sex with Zeus that fails to produce any offspring with powers that make the stars shine or the grass grow, or inspire valiance and kindness in the mortals she will someday favor. No, Eris is a grey, swirling cloud of chaos. When she takes human form, she is short and pale with long black hair like her brother Ares. The two of them create the House of War, and a thousand years later Eris bears a child and they add a member.

Another thousand years pass, and Dionysus is likely to blame when the House of Love and House of War get a little too familiar. Aphrodite is appalled to discover her new twins leave a chill in the air, and no one can stand by her baby Phobos without being overcome with nameless dread and awkwardly excusing themselves.

The twins’ third birthday is a grim affair Aphrodite can’t brighten with any amount of hearts and flowers, golden rain or cheery music, because while Phobos calmly eats cake and doesn’t try to frighten anyone, her son Deimos zips around in a green bubble trying to scare all the guests and merely annoying them. Eris and her now-grown son Strife kick back and laugh at the situation, and when the green bubble floats over to their table, it pops and a small boy with shock-white hair emerges, throwing up his little hands and growling, “Raaarrr!” It’s adorable. Phobos idly draws a picture on the table in spilled juice and the flat image seems to expand until it is a three-dimensional hologram of a tentacled creature so black it sucks in all the light.

“Uppy!” Deimos says, and Strife picks the toddler up. Phobos is turning the creature around and around in his tiny hands until Eris can swear she sees it moving, crawling across the table reaching for her.

“That’s enough!” Aphrodite says, taking her son’s hand so the image fades. He looks up at her innocently. The love goddess sighs.

“I don’t know what to do with them, Eris!”

Eris chuckles and turns to her son. “Guess we’ve got two more members, kiddo.”

“I’m not a kid,” Strife whines. “You’re only a millennium older.”

 

* * *

 

 

Strife never asks who his father is and Eris never tells him. She thinks it might be Ares and so does Strife for a while. He could be the son of anyone she slept with, from Hermes to Hades. Eris hopes he isn’t Ares’ child. That would be too confusing.

After a couple hundred years they act more like friends than family. Best friends, because Eris doesn’t socialize much and no one can endure her son’s presence for more than a minute. Everyone calls the two of them Discord and Strife, which has a nice ring to it. They don’t talk about his parentage. They don’t think of themselves as mother and son, but as partners in crime. Discord’s human form stops aging while Strife looks a bit older. Everyone jokes how Cupid and his mother Aphrodite look the same age but she babies him anyway. “Honey” and “Sweetie” are Aphrodite’s favorite endearments for the embarrassed Cupid, who shrugs them off. Discord calls her own son an asshole and Strife calls her a bitch.

 

* * *

 

 

_“I’m taller, and he’s dead.”_

It’s sometime around Strife’s fatal encounter with Callisto that Deimos starts hanging around the Halls of War. He isn’t as talented as his brother Phobos, who doesn’t need to try to be terrifying. Deimos is more like his cousin Strife, twitchy and hyper and full of delusions of grandeur. Strife had obeyed Ares more towards the end, serving as a loyal and mostly-reliable second-in-command. A position Discord had coveted, not only because she craved Ares’ attention, but because she wanted to be next in the line of succession.

Unless he can out-perform Discord, Deimos doesn’t stand a chance. Ares will naturally pick her, because why have a baby do your work when you can have a queen?

Or a child, because Ares still looks at her like a little sister and probably always will. She bristles whenever he calls her a child, even if her actions can be childish. Even though the actual child today is Ares’ new Number Two.

And that isn’t even the boy’s goal.

_“I just want everyone to fear me like they feared Cousin Strife.”_

_“Nobody feared Strife. Nobody’s gonna fear you.”_

Discord wants to impress Ares, she really does, but she wants to make her nephew look bad even more. So helping Iolaus II find the remaining Rocks of Argius, even if he will use them to save Hercules from fading from existence, quickly becomes Discord’s priority.

Helping humans instead of killing them is a rare choice on her part, but pettiness to this extent is hardly out of character, and what does or does not happen to Hercules wasn’t something Discord cared about until Hera and Ares made it their obsession 40 years ago.

When Hercules is born, the first thing Hera does is send a two-headed snake to kill him. The next day she finds the creature caught and strangled. Seers tell Alcmene that her son will grow up to vanquish monsters, and when the boy turns 18, that’s when it starts. That’s when the comings and goings of a single demigod become Discord’s new priority. Days and nights stretch out until her weeks pass like a human’s does. For most of Discord’s life, years zipped by. Civilizations would rise and fall, and while technology changed, human nature never did. A year was a month and a month was a day, and it didn’t really matter if she wasted her time with minor mischief and mayhem, because Discord had all the time in eternity to waste. Now the length between hēmérā Áreōs and hēmérā Diós is agonizingly slow. Now every day she and Strife need to get up, have breakfast and make a new plan. Her mother and brother need ideas on how to make Hercules’ life hell. The pressure is on.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Take my word for it, he’s better off dead.”_

The day Strife gets himself killed…Correction, the day Callisto brutally murders her son, Discord is on her day-off, minding her own business, keeping her distance from dark gods and time traveling blonde psychopaths. She’s no stranger to wishing she could kill another deity outright, but the reality is different. Ares mourns his nephew while fearing Zeus will be very, _very_ angry.

Discord doesn’t fear her father’s wrath and she doesn’t even mourn. She feels numb and shakes it off. She knew something terrible would take her son away someday. He’d been beaten in battle countless times, hurt by her and Ares and Hercules. Strife regenerated any damage quickly, back to full health almost immediately. A god could be run through and stand back up with the blade still inside them. But not this god, and not with this blood. It’s why Zeus had the Golden Hinds wiped out. Their blood is poison, sick and black and deadly. Zeus kills whoever knows this secret too, but it can’t be kept from Xena and Hercules, the Sovereign or Callisto for long. Dahak knows, his daughter knows. Dribble it on a sword and that sword can kill gods. (Ares used to keep a Hind called Serena around, disguised and guarded like a secret weapon. He and Strife hid it from Discord so she pretended she didn’t know.)

This is their biggest problem until much later, when other divine beings have it out for them and Xena is imbued with the power to destroy the Olympians. Discord’s own death lay ahead in thirty years, and it’s all the Archangels’ doing. For now their largest threat is a small dagger in an unhinged immortal’s hand. Discord’s son is a guinea pig, a message for the rest of them. Strife’s gone, Strife’s dead, but he doesn’t deserve it. Never deserved it.

_“He’s better off dead.”_

They hadn’t thought of each other as partners in over a decade, or mother and son for much longer. Sometime between Hercules’ time at the Academy and now, something changed. They grew apart, and Discord lost any shred of respect she had for him.

_“Better off dead.”_

So Discord’s barely paying attention when Callisto kills him, and Ares is mourning so heavily and for so long it starts to irritate. Lashing out at Hercules seems an appropriate catharsis, and she hasn’t pissed off Artemis in a while. So they steal her bow and turn Hercules into a pig. It’s fun until Discord’s turned into a chicken, but things have gone relatively back to normal. Discord isn’t new to such humiliation, and she probably deserves it for what she’d said.

 

* * *

 

 

_“I’m taller, and he’s dead.”_

Deimos’ eyes are blue, hair is white, skin is tan and laugh is ear-piercingly annoying. Discord’s nephew is a poor copy of Strife and everyone knows it. His brother Phobos isn’t around because he’s everywhere and nowhere, and his cousin isn’t around because Callisto’s a god-murdering cunt. So they’re left with this amateur as the next Big Bad God of War, because there’s no guarantee anymore that Ares and Discord are sticking around.

She leaves Deimos hanging from a tree with his mind split in two, arguing with himself endlessly about what went wrong. Discord knows what went wrong; she sabotaged his plans for Hercules herself. Because she can’t let anyone get between her and the throne. Because Deimos is two hundred years old and her son was nearly two thousand, and he’s a copy but not a substitute and no one ever will be.

 

* * *

 

 

“Why’s Zeus got such a thing for this Alcmene chick?” Strife whispers. He and Discord are standing behind a pillar in an alcove just off the Olympus throne room, watching Zeus watch his child’s birth through a scrying pool. It’s not the safest place to be. Ares or Hera could appear at any moment. But Discord doesn’t want to miss this, because she worked hard for this intel, and her newest baby sibling is a curiosity worth knowing about.

“I don’t know. He’s never cared this much before,” Discord says. “I wonder what this will mean for the Pantheon.”

“The kid is only a half-god, so it can’t be good for much.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Zeus cries out in joy, and that must mean the child has made it out of the womb and into their lives. A new member of the family.

“Dad’s been on edge around Hera for months keeping this secret. That child’s a powder keg and Olympus is about to explode.”

“Ooh, I like having a new cousin already,” Strife says with a grin. “This will be fun.”

Zeus looks up. Discord catches his eye and she freezes in terror. From his expression, he doesn’t seem to mind her presence. Discord doesn’t want to push her luck.

“Let’s get out of here,” she says, and Strife pouts. He wants to see what all the fuss is about.

“Come forward, children,” Zeus says, and Discord reluctantly emerges from behind the pillar and approaches her father. Strife follows behind.

“That,” he says, pointing to the image in the water, “is Hercules.” The little demigod is pink and messy, being wrapped in a coarse blanket and handed back to Alcmene, who sits up and hugs the baby to her breast. “Your baby brother,” he says to Discord, who frowns. She wants to ask why a human is so important to him, why Zeus is acting so strange. Strife asks for her.

“Why’s he so important?” Strife says, and Discord shuts her eyes, expecting a reprimand for being so disrespectful.

“Because he’s my son,” Zeus says simply, narrowing his eyes at his grandson, his voice taking on a harder edge.

“Forgive him, father,” Discord says, glancing at Strife. “Every parent’s child is important.” To her surprise, Zeus places a gentle hand on her back.

“Indeed,” he says, and touches Strife’s shoulder as well. The affection makes Discord nervous. She isn’t used to Zeus’ kindness.

“What now?” Strife asks. Discord needs to remind him later not to speak until spoken to.

“Now we wait,” Zeus says. “Humans age more quickly than gods, so it shouldn’t be long before he grows into his potential.”

Discord gives her father a quizzical look.

“He’ll be a Hero,” Zeus says, and she can hear the capital H in his voice. Discord knows she has permission to groan now.

“Ugh,” she says, only half-joking. “Another _hero_.”

 “You war gods seem to manage,” Zeus says with a smirk. Discord returns the look.

“Any son of yours is a challenge,” she says. “But yeah, we’ll manage.”

“That’s my girl,” says Zeus, because he knows war gods hate heroes, yet he keeps creating them anyway. He knows the House of War can handle another hero and still do their job. He hasn’t decreed Hercules off limits yet, that decision is hours away.

The rare friendly moment seems to have passed, so Discord nods her head at Strife to indicate they should leave, and the pair teleport someplace there are no other gods. Strife’s cutting it close, because he’s brought them to a ridge overlooking Alcmene’s town.

“Where are we?” Discord asks, and Strife points.

She knows Zeus is watching and smacks Strife upside the head. He cries out in pain, rubs his skull and says innocently, “I just wanted to watch the sunset.”

“Our whole lives are going to change,” Discord snaps, meaning Hercules is going to change everything. “We need to be careful not to make waves so soon.”

“It’s just a sunset,” Strife protests, but he gestures towards Alcmene’s house. She knows what he means. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means _everything_ ,” she says, glowering. “I played nice back there with Dad but the next deity we see isn’t gonna be so diplomatic. Pray it’s not Hera.”

“Who am I gonna pray to?”

“Nyx,” Discord replies, like it’s obvious.

“Who’s Nyx?”

Discord rolls her eyes. “You’ve heard me invoke her name a million times. She’s one of the first goddesses, Goddess of the Night.”

“Oh, her.”

“Yeah, _her_. She’s who I would worship if I had the same religious conviction I wish my own followers did.”

“I don’t get why _I_ don’t have more followers. People who fear me.”

“I don’t fear Nyx, I…” This is getting saccharine. “Love her,” Discord whispers, because war gods can’t love. But sometimes the Goddess fills her with a kind of hope. She looks up at the stars and wonders if Nyx is real, just like humans do. Discord regularly reminds her own worshippers that yes, she is real, but Nyx doesn’t have the same social touch. She vanished long ago.

“Gross,” Strife says. Discord smiles at him.

“So pray to Nyx that Hera doesn’t catch us sitting here.”

Strife grumbles a short prayer.

“Can we stay a little longer?” Strife asks. The air is crisp and sky is clear.

“Yeah, we can stay.”

 

* * *

 

 

Veronica is 21 years old and claims Dimitri’s old computer. She types “Nyx” into Yahoo. Wikipedia doesn’t exist yet and the first hyperlink is a university’s classical literature page.

“Are you ready to meet the angels?” Strife asks, throwing on his coat. Discord frowns at him, apprehensive.

“I don’t trust the angels after what they did to our family.”

“These guys weren’t even _there_.”

“I know,” she says curtly. She takes Dimitri’s coat too, because they haven’t had time to buy her new clothes.

“They know things. They can help.”

“I know.”

Discord can’t look at him. She pulls her hands up inside the sleeves. Dimitri’s coat is too big on her.

“What happened to your boyfriend?” she asks. Strife’s face falls.

“He left me.”

“Just like that?”

 “It was more complicated than that.”

“He left all his shit.”

“I said it was complicated,” Strife snaps.

Discord stops pressing.

“Okay,” she says. “Let’s meet these fuckin’ angels.”

 

* * *

 

 

Deimos once asked Discord what the “rules” were. (Were they a one-time thing, or a long-term affair? Not that he was into that second thing, because why limit his options?) But Dave doesn’t bother. Dave recklessly cheats on his human lover, whereas Deimos was painfully single. Because humans have lower standards, Discord guesses.

Veronica turns 22 but she doesn’t tell Dave because the license Loki gives her is fake and she can’t remember her real birthday. She remembers not caring about the passage of time until one fateful hēmérā Diós she can never forget. Her father pat her on the back and it was the last time he ever did or ever would.

Veronica turns 23 and Steve buys her a cake. Dave eats half of it and drinks all her beer. They have sex that night and Veronica remembers the time they stole a cake from Iolaus. It might have been when Iolaus was an old man, or it might have been when he was a teenager and the god beside her had black hair and not white.

Sometimes memory is confusing.

 

* * *

 

 

_“I’m taller.”_

Deimos tells her what her worst nightmare is, and she clutches him and tells him he’s good at what he does, because he’s caught up to his brother, who’s somewhere, and he’s caught up to Strife, who isn’t. She perches on the edge of her temple altar, hitching up her skirt, and the taller god enters her and it’s a comfort and reminds Discord she isn’t going anywhere. She isn’t vanishing like Nyx and she isn’t floating into the darkness like in her dreams. Her blood is pumping and she’s alive and she’s _flying_ , and he is warm and hot and hard and so very Deimos. It’s around this time he stops looking like Strife and starts looking like a lover who can get her through the Twilight.

Deimos laughs and moans and tells her he loves her, and Discord shushes him because war gods can’t love.

 

* * *

 

 

Dave doesn’t say “I love you” very often, because Veronica glares at him if he says it at all. Steve can tell her he loves her, and it’s okay because they’re family, even after the incestuous fling Dennis tells her isn’t criminal. True, Dennis doesn’t know what really happened, but he makes a good point. Veronica’s a decent friend, even if Discord wasn’t a good mother. Besides, she and Strife almost kissed that one time, drunk on Dionysus’ brew, until Ares brought everything screeching to a halt.

A part of Dave resents his cousin, but he lets Steve fuck Veronica anyway, all three sinners tangled up in the same bed. The two men take turns making love to her, bringing her to climax over and over. Exhausted, she watches them fuck each other, and if it makes Veronica happy, it’s what Dave wants too.

 

* * *

 

 

Veronica turns 24 and her friendship with Dennis has Dave worried, but it’s just so she can get pills to stop her crying all the time. Since 9/11, humans have made her anxious. If they can commit such atrocities on their own, does it mean the gods never existed in the first place? Or does this mean Ares is out there doing it without her? Loki and Bartleby gave no clear explanation, and Veronica’s less certain of what’s real every day. Dennis still thinks she’s crazy, but he loves her too, so he stops saying it.

On her 25th birthday, Steve gives Veronica an iPod and fills her library with music, and she isn’t sure who she likes better, Rob Zombie or Richard Wagner. Dave is fond of the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Steve likes Smashing Pumpkins.  

 

* * *

 

 

Veronica wakes up to a stranger in her bed and it takes a moment to remember it's her boyfriend. He looks so different in her dreams, with shock white hair and an obnoxious grin. He's more peaceful when he sleeps, expression sober and relaxed. Dirty blonde strands falling in his eyes. Blue eyes, closed now. She's not sure she can call this man Deimos, but Dave doesn't seem right either. Veronica wonders how she found Deimos so sexy, then remembers it's not his looks, it's the way he touches her. The way his hands make her body sing, and she wants to disrupt her boyfriend's sleep so she can compare.

But that would be rude. His eyes are moving beneath their lids in REM sleep. Dave's dreaming too, and maybe he's dreaming of Discord. Veronica's hair is long and straight. She's wearing yoga pants and a tank top, leaving the skimpy armor and frizzy hair to ancient history. Veronica bets that's the person he's with right now, scowling and barking orders. But Discord could grin seductively, too. Lower her voice, make it breathy, and when Veronica tries to do it she feels silly.

Veronica tucks Dave's hair behind his ear and this stirs him from sleep. She caresses his cheek and Dave looks at her, eyes adjusting to the darkness. He smiles slightly and quietly says, "Hey."

"Hey."

"Can't sleep?"

"I had a dream about you,” she says. “At least I think it was you."

"Oh yeah? I was dreaming about you too." Dave takes her hand and caresses it with his thumb. "You were super pissed about something. But you couldn't hurt me, not really. We worked things out."

"Oh?"

He smirks. "Yeah, the way we used to."

It takes a moment for Veronica to get it, and when she does she says, faux-scandalized, "Are you saying you were having a sex dream about me?"

"Yeah, but you woke me before we could finish. Did you get any action?”

“Couldn’t seal the deal,” she says with a sigh. Veronica wonders if Morpheus had them sharing the same dream, but that’s absurd, because Morpheus isn’t real.

“Well we can’t have that,” Dave says, moving his hand slowly up her arm in soft strokes.

“I’m not so sure it was you,” Veronica says. “He had short, sort of spiky white hair. And this awful, like, brown leather outfit with red tassels on the sleeves. Even _you’ve_ never worn such ridiculous clothes.”

Dave’s hand freezes. She can’t tell his expression in the dark, but his body has tensed.

Memory foggy, she asks, “Did you ever have white hair?”

After a brief pause, he says, "You don't remember?"

"Should I?"

Suddenly, Dave pulls her into a passionate kiss. It takes her off-guard, but isn't unwelcome. The kiss is almost desperate in its intensity. She wonders what she said.

Voice deep and husky, he asks, "Want to finish what we started?" Veronica nods and kisses him back, slipping her tongue between his lips.

“Top or bottom?” Dave asks, meaning would she prefer missionary or not. These three breathy words make him more considerate than her dream lover, who turned her around and took her in the nearest place he could find. It gave Veronica a thrill, being roughly handled, having her skirt yanked up and panties pushed down, bent over a boulder while he tightly gripped her hips.

"From behind," she whispers.

 Deimos grins.

 

* * *

 

 

Hercules turns 25 years old and Discord tells Strife she never wants to see him again. He’s been sleeping with Ares, who has been spending more and more time with Strife and less time with her. Hercules meets a girl named Deianeira and is temporarily no threat and Discord can breathe easy for a while. She pretends she doesn’t miss her son.  

A beautiful young warrior named Xena turns 25 and Ares gives her the Chakram and Discord pretends she doesn’t care. She has a job to do and fun to have. Ares can do what he wants. Xena’s just another mortal.

Livia turns 25 and Ares is obsessed and it’s like Xena all over again. At least Ares is no longer mourning the bitch. Discord’s kept busy as Goddess of Retribution. Deimos is a comfort when he’s not aggravating the shit out of her.

Eve turns 26 and Discord is dead.

 

* * *

 

 

On her 26th birthday, Dennis meets Veronica for coffee at Miss Katie's Diner and pronounces her sane. Dave texts her a dick pic and Steve gives her an iTunes gift card.

In her dreams, Veronica unleashes chaos. Starts fights that break out into wars, throws golden apples into weddings, makes promises to mermaid princesses and steals ancient relics from gods. She manipulates people into becoming their own worst enemies, just because she can, then kicks back to watch the show.

Dennis says she’s gotten better at differentiating fiction from reality, but this bothers Dave, who insists she write her stories down. Sometimes he speaks like it happened, like her dreams are real. She loves him so she shrugs it off.

Eventually Dave stops insisting.

 

**Author's Note:**

> References Rundown:
> 
> -All the Milwaukee, Wisconsin scenes take place between 1998 and 2002, because Time Travel and Bad Ideas from High School. And Reasons, but mostly Because Reasons.
> 
> -Veronica’s 25th birthday takes place in 2002, but no specific day. The first iPod came out in October 2001 and sold for $400, a substantial gift. There's a small inconsistency, though, because camera phones weren't available until November 2002.
> 
> -The incident with Deimos and the Rock of Argius takes place during the HTLJ episode S5E20 “Fade Out,” Strife is killed by Callisto in S4E13 “Armageddon Now Part One,” and Discord comments on Strife’s death and steals Artemis' bow in S4E16 “Porkules.”
> 
> -Like in the original Greek myth, Aphrodite and Ares are the parents of Deimos and Phobos, even though Deimos and Ares are explicitly cousins in TV canon. Phobos is not a character in the TV series.
> 
> -It is never specified who Strife’s parents are in canon, but it's commonly accepted that Discord is his mother. I’ve wavered back and forth on this over the years. In the earlier fics, she is his aunt. 
> 
> -Dimitri is Steve’s ex-boyfriend, Dennis is Veronica’s ex-boyfriend, and Bartleby and Loki are archangels from the 1999 Kevin Smith film “Dogma” who were banished to Wisconsin for disobeying God.
> 
> -According to Wikipedia, “hēmérā Diós” was what the ancient Greeks called Thursday and “hēmérā Áreōs” was Tuesday. I invented the idea Hercules was born that day because I wanted a cool line to start that section.
> 
> -Strife says Discord is “only a millennium older” than him in the Young Hercules episode S1E11 “Battle Lines I.”
> 
> -I decided years ago that Deimos was younger than Discord and Strife, despite zero canonical evidence, because he acts just as immaturely as Strife did and the character wasn’t introduced until Season 5 of HTLJ, implying he wasn’t around or "old enough" to be trusted with anything major. (In real life, the character hadn’t been invented by HTLJ’s writers yet, and was probably created as an excuse to get actor Joel Tobeck back.) Hercules acts like he knows Deimos in “Fade Out,” commenting his laugh gives him away, but Hercules could have met him anywhere, anytime, before or after Strife died. In EiCC I write that this was around the time Deimos began actively trying to impress Ares, and it’s implied in “Fade Out” this really is the case, since he is so eager to be Ares’ new second-in-command and “be feared” as much as he thinks his dead cousin was. (Plus Ares and Discord comment he looks like Strife as though noticing it for the first time. But this is just the writers lamp-shading the fact that Joel is playing both characters.)
> 
> -The title is a lyric from the song "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)" by Green Day.


End file.
